All Of The Hell I Had To Walk Through
by sandra70
Summary: Most of us remained a little unsatisfied after 4x11: why has Emma left Hook after that kiss to have shots with Regina? What happened after she'd gone to the author's mansion? Come on, we all know what happened after that. I'm trying to answer these questions.


The title is of course borrowed from Christina Perri's song "The Words", for reasons ;)

This is my take on the missing pieces of _Heroes & Villains_: I'm trying to answer the questions that tormented us all - why did Emma leave Hook after that kiss, and where did she go after she'd parted ways with Regina and Henry. Oh well, we all know where she went, right?

* * *

><p>"I told you, Swan... I'm a survivor."<p>

After that breathtaking, earth-shaking, knee-weakening kiss they stood there for a while, noses almost touching, smiling at each other like idiots. But after a few moments, when the adrenaline rush started to ebb away a little, a touch of sadness and concern trickled into Emma's expression.

"But when you said goodbye to me," she finally said, "you thought you were going to die, didn't you?"

Hook swallowed and licked his lips a little nervously. "Swan, I..."

But she put her hand to his cheek in true remorse. "I'm sorry I didn't come for you sooner," she cut off his explanation, "I knew something was wrong with you, I _knew_ it. But..."

"Emma, no... don't be," he interrupted hastily, and she could hear the tension he felt in the way his accent shone through a little more; he pronounced "be" almost like "bay". "I'm the one who has to apologize. It's all my fault. I need to tell you..." Suddenly, he stumbled a little, the physical and emotional torture of the past days finally taking its toll on him.

And, like a ton of bricks, it hit her again – It hit her hard – that she'd almost lost him, that he'd almost died in front of her eyes, although he'd promised her she didn't have to worry about him because he'd always survive. Oh yes, he _had_ survived, but this time it had been a really close call, and not even she – the goddamn _Savior_ – had been able to do anything for him, she'd have been condemned to helplessly watch. If it hadn't been for Belle, she'd have had to bury another man... not just someone she'd _been with_, but the fucking _love of her life_, she _knew_ that now, and she also knew she'd never have been able to recover from that. And suddenly, a burning fury gripped her insides, tearing viciously, a fury at that damn pirate who almost had broken his promise, the only one who had _never_ broken a promise he'd given her! Emma knew that her fury was irrational and he didn't deserve it, no matter what sick twist of events had led to that situation... but she also knew one more thing: she wasn't able to deal with that just now. She just _couldn't_. For the moment, she was simply grateful for the fact that he was alive, and she'd figure out how to deal with the rest of it. _But not now_.

And so she did what she'd always done best: she avoided, at least for the moment.

When she shook her head, he fell silent immediately. "Not now, Killian," she told him firmly, though not harshly. "I'm sure there are things we need to talk about, but now's not the moment. You're alive. You're safe. The rest can wait until tomorrow. You need to rest." She leaned a little back – _away from him_, as he didn't fail to notice – , stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again on the lips, very lightly, almost fleetingly. "I'll be back tomorrow morning," she went on almost casually, "and we can talk. Now just rest, please." She smiled sweetly, touched his cheek one more time and stepped back from him, took two steps backwards and looked at him almost with an apology in her eyes. Then she turned around and walked away.

Hook hadn't even had the chance to reply, but he'd seen what had been going on on her face, beneath the surface, behind her eyes. Right now, he absurdly wished he didn't have his heart back, because it hurt so bloody much to see her pull back from him. She had to suspect something, to blame him for the mess he manoeuvred himself in. And he _was_ to blame, he knew that, but after all they'd been through... _one mistake_, and only made because he'd wanted to be a better, a _whole_ man for her, _one mistake_ was enough to make her lose her trust in him? To make her pull back again, like in old times? He knew that running after her would be pointless now... therefore he remained still like a pillar of salt there in the corridor for a long time, maybe minutes even, before he finally entered his room, shoulders slumped... and, for the first time since the Crocodile had taken his heart, feeling _beaten_.

When she'd left Hook, Emma found a depressed-looking Regina at the bar of the diner, plastered a smile on her face and went straight into Savior mode – the sight of her former enemy showing one of her rare weak moments was a welcome chance to distract her from her own pain, confusion, and emotional uproar. They'd just started having shots, Emma secretly thinking that she could use them as much as Regina, when Henry appeared, all excited, and told his mothers what he'd found at the mysterious mansion where the portal to Arendelle had been. So, the three of them drove to the mansion and found the library with the blank-paged books. After Henry and Regina had filled her in a little sheepishly, Emma found herself agreeing to join their operation Mongoose; partly, because it soothed her worries about the whole Regina/Robin/Marian mess she still felt responsible for, partly because Regina's attitude really seemed to change and she seemed to understand that it were her own actions that defined her, and not some mysterious author and puppet master.

After they'd left the author's mansion, Emma drove Regina and Henry home; while a drop-dead tired Henry ran inside immediately, Regina stood by the open driver's door and scrutinized Emma closely.

"Why are you here, with me?" she finally asked bluntly.

Emma shrugged. "Well, I..."

But the dark-haired woman didn't let her talk. "Look, I know you think you have to save everyone, and you're still feeling guilty about ruining my life , but let me tell you one thing."

Emma shifted a little uncomfortably on her seat. "Regina..."

"You didn't," the former Evil Queen interrupted and added with a rare touch of almost remorseful self-insight: "I screwed it up pretty much myself. But I'm also going to rectify that myself. And if you're going to help, well, then..." – she shrugged – "you're welcome. But right now..." she paused for a moment, and Emma raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Well, shouldn't you be with Captain Guyliner, survivor extraordinaire?" Regina couldn't keep a little regal snark from her voice; old habits.

Emma had expected everything, but not that. She averted her eyes. "He's resting," she explained a little lamely. "Tomorrow..."

"_Tomorrow?_" Regina echoed in disbelief. "Emma, he almost died today."

Her blonde head snapped around, and she glared at her son's adoptive mother. "Don't you think I'm aware of that?" she replied sharply. "I was _there_. I _saw_ Gold starting to crush his heart. I saw him fall to his fucking _knees_ in agony!"

Regina folded her arms and raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "And I ask again – why are you here?"

Emma threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Regina, I almost lost him. _Again_. I'm not sure how to handle this. I need to figure it out." She couldn't believe what she was doing here... was she really sharing the problems of her underdeveloped love life with her former foe? That was plain ridiculous. But before she could stop herself, she went on: "And when I could have... _should_ have done something, I... I didn't." She shook her head in disbelief. "I mean, I _knew_ there was something wrong with him, but I... there was so much..."

"So much what?" Regina snarled. "Savior work to do?" She rolled her eyes. "Godammit, Emma, why don't you stop trying to save everyone else for once and save _yourself_?"

Emma blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Regina leaned a little forward and scrutinized her closely. "Does he know? I mean, I'm sure he _knows_ because..." she snickered a little, "...well, he'd have to be blind not to, but – did you _tell_ him?"

Emma frowned. "Tell him what?" she asked feebly, but she knew she should have known better than to try and fool Regina _I-see-your-yearning-looks-and-doey-eyes_ Mills.

The former Evil Queen snorted. "You're a grown woman, start acting like one," she told Emma curtly and added in a less grumpy voice: "Do you want to know what's worse than seeing someone you love die in front of you?" Emma just looked at her, feeling even more uncomfortable. She knew that Regina'd had her share of painful losses, too. Regina drew a deep breath and raised her chin. "Seeing someone you love die in front of you _and_ knowing you never got to tell them you love them..." – briefly, the dark-haired woman thought of her mother – "...or forgive them."

Emma just stared at her; Regina added: "Take it from someone who knows."

Emma's mouth was literally hanging open, while the thoughts stumbled over one another in her head. She did love Hook, _of course_ she loved him, but why on earth had she never told him? Because there were still rests of her walls that held her back? What for? It didn't even make sense, and she realized that she didn't have to be afraid he'd leave her, abandon her – at least not at his own free will. Had she simply thought he'd be around forever anyway and they'd have all the time in the world? Or had she simply assumed to it wasn't necessary to tell him, because he'd understood it a long time ago anyway? Like he always understood her? Regina was probably right, and he _did_ know, but what if he'd died today, thinking she didn't love him enough to take that last leap of faith for him? Damn, she had been so stupid. Suddenly, she knew she needed to end this, end all of this stupid _maybe... kind of... sort of..._ She knew she needed to tell him – _now._

Regina saw the realization in Emma's widening eyes and slammed the driver's door of the bug shut without further ceremony, snapping at her: "_Go!"_

Emma started the engine and sped off with screeching tires and without looking back. She surely broke the speed limit when she drove right back to Granny's – but, hey, she was the sheriff, and this was surely an emergency. After parking the car carelessly in front of the diner, she entered it by its side entrance that led directly to the guest rooms and had reached Hook's door within a few seconds. She raised her arm and was about to hit the wood with the flat hand when she stopped herself, but only for one second. _Don't be a fucking coward,_ she thought. _Save yourself._

She drew a deep breath and pounded at his door with her fist until it was abruptly yanked open by a rather grumpy-looking pirate. "What the bloody hell..." his face fell when he saw her. "Swan? What are you doing here?"

For a moment, she was distracted by the sight of him: she'd never seen him like that. He was wearing a black v-neck t-shirt with long sleeves – and of course he'd obviously managed to find the t-shirt with the _deepest_ v-neck available within a radius of three hundred miles. His heavy silver chain was off, but the chest hair was showing in its usual glory like with one of his indecent pirate shirts – she'd almost forgotten how revealing they'd always been, and she had to admit to herself that she missed that. Furthermore, he was wearing something that looked like freaking _sweatpants_, black, of course. Obviously, he'd been already in bed, because his hair was tousled, _damn_, and the sheets were thrown back. That was more than distracting, too. Without noticing, she bit her lip. But first things first. She pulled herself together.

"We need to talk," she told him a little breathlessly. "I was wrong. It can't wait until tomorrow."

His perfect mouth curved into a little, insecure smile. "Sure." Before he could step aside, Emma pushed past him into the room. He tilted his head ironically. "Do come in." He sighed when he closed the door and drew a deep breath before turning around to her.

She was standing in the middle of the room like a tigress ready to kill – tense, hands clenched to fists at her sides – and he thought _When a woman says that, I'm rarely in for a pleasant conversation... _instinctively,he braced himself against the fury he saw in her eyes, although he wanted nothing more than to grab her and kiss her senseless, like he'd done only a few hours before. But he knew that wouldn't work... or maybe it _would_ work, but it wouldn't be the right thing to do, because hell, she was right: things needed to be cleared; she needed to know everything, and the thought that perhaps, after knowing everything, she wouldn't want to have anything to do with him, almost killed him inside.

"Swan," he began in an almost broken voice, "I have to tell you..."

"No," she cut him off sharply and raised her hand, "you have to shut up and listen." Immediately, he fell silent and did as he was told, and only the twitching muscle in his jaw showed his tenseness. Emma raised her chin. "Just tell me one thing," she demanded. "When Gold restored your hand for that evening, when we went out for our date... that was how all that mess started, right? That ended in you getting your heart ripped out?"

She looked at him with so much hurt and accusation in her eyes that he had to avert his, so miserable he felt now. He swallowed and barely managed a toneless murmur in response: "Aye..." When she didn't reply immediately, his eyes darted to hers again. "But you have to understand..."

"I said – _shut. Up."_ she interrupted him again. "I don't need your explanations right now, Killian. I don't want to know how exactly that all evolved." His heart sank a little. She shot her finger at him like a bullet. "You, Killian Jones, are a fucking _liar!_" she snapped in an outraged voice, and he flinches at the fury in her tone and her words; he'd never heard her use strong language like that. She drew a deep, shaky breath and went on: "You said I don't have to worry about you because you were a survivor!"

He tilted his head and replied sheepishly: "Well, actually, I did survive..."

"Yeah, because Belle saved your _ass!_" she almost yelled. "But that's not what makes me mad the most!"

He raised his eyebrows in a surprised frown. "It's not?"

"No, it's not!" she snapped. "What makes me mad the most is _you_ saying you're not good at anything but surviving, and that's just _not true!_" He just cocked his head and gave her one of his clueless puppy looks, and she felt the anger well up again. "You're a _good_ man, honorable and brave and selfless!" Hook's eyes widened when the Crocodile's derisive words reverberated in his head: _...a cunning, selfish pirate._ Emma saw his scruffy face all shadowed with disbelief, and her anger rose to even higher levels; but this time it was directed at herself. It was painful to watch how it was obviously beyond his imagination that someone could think that high of him. She had known for a long time that most of his dashing bravado was just a mask, but damn, she hadn't known that he thought _that_ low of himself. With all those feelings she had for him, how could she not have noticed that? "You're a loyal friend," she went on firmly, determined to make it up to him, "you risk your life for the ones you care about, and you have saved this town more than once. You're a goddamn _hero!_" Her voice had risen with every word she'd said, but now it fell again, like deflated, to a level where it was barely audible when she uttered: "And no one ever gave you credit for that, including me."

He hadn't meant to, but his hand reached out to touch her arm. "Swan, don't..."

Emma snatched her arm away, confusing him again; only that she'd done it to keep him from distracting her. She needed to finish this first, she needed to come clean about everything. "I blame you for thinking for _one_ minute you weren't good enough for me on any level," she accused in a clear voice, "I blame you for thinking I didn't want you _exactly_ the way you are!" He still tried to realize what she was trying to tell him when she quietly added: "And I blame myself for letting you think that."

He couldn't believe that _she_ was actually feeling guilty when _he_ was the one who had screwed up, been dishonest, manoeuvred himself into a perilous situation, fallen into the Dark One's hands by his own fault and stupidity. Just because he'd given in to his deeply engrained insecurities his old foe had so masterfully played with. _Dark One lies, Dark One tricks._ Oh yes, the Crocodile had been right: getting back his hand had indeed brought out who he really was – a man who'd always doubted his own worth, convinced that nobody else thought really much of him. A man who hadn't been caring about other people's opinions for long decades, but once he'd found people that were important to him, felt the need to become a better version of himself, to be worthy of them.

"Remember," Emma's voice, softer now, shook him from his bitter introspection, "you said once to me that you would win my heart, and that it wouldn't be because of any trickery, but because I'd want you?" Oh, how he remembered that moment. He had truly believed it then, had believed he could become the man she deserved – and perhaps he had; perhaps he should have had acknowledged himself a little more. He nodded silently, just once; it was a minimalistic move. "Well, that turned out to be true," she went on and leaned a little forward, boring her eyes into his. "You _have_ my heart, Killian, and you won it by just being _you_. You won it a long time ago, and I don't need anything about you to be fixed." He was mesmerized by her eyes and the love he saw in them; he couldn't look anywhere else and felt more than he saw her soft palm against his cheek. "Understand?" she asked softly.

He just blinked slowly and felt his heart clench in his chest, and it felt _good_. Emma saw the spark in his eyes, the softly crinkling laugh lines around those blue pools, and the tiny smile that tugged at the corners of his perfect mouth. An expression of peacefulness and hope blossomed on his gorgeous face, and she pressed her lips together and tried to control the shakiness of her voice before she went on.

She raised her chin. "I love you, and if you ever get yourself in such a mess again, I swear I'm gonna finish the job and kill you myself," she declared firmly.

Hook's jaw dropped, and he raised his hand. "Wait, wha... what did you just say?" he almost stuttered and narrowed his eyes.

Emma folded her arms and suppressed a grin. "I said if you ever get yourself into such a mess again..."

"No, before that." He made an impatient, swirling move with his hand.

"Oh, that." she shrugged. "I said _I love you_, you stupid fossil." _Damn_, how long had it taken her to dare to even _think_ those words, and now that she'd finally _said_ them it felt so right that she could even tease him with it.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a deep, quiet breath. When he opened them again, Emma saw they were actually glittering with tears. Suddenly, she felt like choking up and almost hoped he wouldn't say it back right now, because she knew she'd just burst into tears. They looked at each other for what seemed an endless time; when he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible. "You didn't say _stupid,_" he remarked.

The tension was broken, and she even laughed along with his slowly blossoming smile, so light was her heart, but then she was serious again. "Don't you ever leave me again," she demanded firmly.

Hook reached out tentatively, and when she didn't move, he took her left hand in his, caressing the back of her hand with his ringed thumb. "I cannot promise that," he replied, looking down at their joined hands, and she frowned. "If I should ever have to choose between your life or my own," he went on and looked into her eyes again, "I'd pick you. _Always_." Emma swallowed, but that lump in her throat just wouldn't go away. She blinked heavily. He moistened his lips and told her in an almost sober, casual voice that was belied by his words: "For I love you more than my own life, and without you, it wouldn't be more than merely the miserable shadow of an existence."

She drew a deep, shaky breath and reached out with her free hand, grabbing the sheath that held his hook. "Well, then we'll have to make sure that never happens," she answered firmly. "Together."

His gaze dropped down at her hand that was holding his mutilated arm like she were holding his hand. Then he fixed them on her face again. "You really mean that?" he ascertained.

Emma repeated almost solemnly: "I really mean that."

He nodded and licked his lips nervously. There was no need in delaying what he had to do. "Now I need to tell you how..."

She shook her head. "No, you don't," she contradicted firmly. "We'll have plenty of time for that. I need to do something else first."

Hook sighed; partly relieved, partly disappointed. What could be more important now than to settle really everything between them while they were at it? But, as usual, he was willing to adapt to her schedule. "Sure." He took a step back. "The Savior's job is never done, I know."

Emma shook her head again, this time with a smile. "Oh, for today it is," she told him. "_You_ are going to do the saving tonight." When he frowned cluelessly, she took off her beige leather jacket and dropped it on the nearest chair. He stared at her, mesmerized, and slowly it dawned on him what she meant, and he couldn't believe it at first. She smiled again and took his hand. "It's time to save the Savior now." Again, he looked down at her hand that held his firmly now, possessively almost, and then back at her face where he read the unspoken invitation in her green eyes, mixed with only the tiniest bit of a question – he realized once more that he was not the only one constantly questioning himself and fearing rejection. When he didn't react immediately, she shrugged – it was a very girlish gesture that touched him deeply – and added: "That is, of course, unless you want me to lea-"

She was cut off abruptly when Hook braced the small distance between them and crushed his lips to hers. The kiss was so sudden and fierce that she would have stumbled, hadn't he enveloped her in a possessive embrace, his hooked arm around her waist and his hand at the back of her head. But, like a few hours ago, when he'd kissed her with a similar fervor after she'd almost brutally shoved his heart back into his chest, it took her only the blink of an eye to respond. She slid her arms around his trim waist and opened up for him, and before she knew it he had her pinned against the door which caused her another strong déjà-vu. His fingers curled against her scalp, pulling her hair almost roughly to change the angle of her head to his liking and deepen the already bruising kiss. A feral growl rumbled deep in his chest, and – like that afternoon – the primal sound shot a red-hot bolt of raw desire through her body.

Everything about this kiss was familiar to her, yet everything so exciting and new, because it went further than anything that had happened so far between them. They had kissed quite a few times before – and passionately, too – but still, this was different. The way he'd steered her against the door, the way his fingers were entangled in her hair, the way he pressed his body into hers told her things he'd barely hinted at until now. He wasn't holding back anything at all. His lips were more demanding than they had ever been before, his teeth grazing her lower lip, and his tongue didn't even hesitate before claiming access; there was no _be patient_ or _easy, tiger_ about this kiss. This was all pillaging and plundering.

Emma responded with an equal amount of hunger and passion and noticed what a breathtaking difference it made that, unlike other times, only one thin layer of fabric separated his body from her hands; he emanated a feverish heat through his t-shirt, and when she ran her hands up his back she had the impression she could feel every single muscle roll and twitch beneath the cotton. He leaned even more into her, and she drew in a sharp breath when she felt for the first time his hard arousal pressing into her, not reigned in at all by the soft fabric of his sweatpants. The feeling drove her almost insane, and her fingers clawed into the back of his t-shirt and tore at it as violently as uselessly. A guttural moan escaped her throat.

And suddenly, the pressure of his body was eased from hers, and his fingers released her blonde curls from their grip. Hook broke the kiss and looked at her face with wide eyes; they were of a deep midnight blue and still showed the uproar of passion, but also a softness and gentleness that brought her almost to her knees. What she almost couldn't handle was the wonder in his eyes, the disbelief that went far beyond the unreal sensation of _is this really happening? _she was experiencing herself right now. As if he was and would be forever wondering how he deserved any of this, any of her. Emma made a secret vow to herself to show him from now on that he deserved every single bit of her love and devotion, but also the friendship, trust and support she and her family had to offer him.

He blinked slowly, a minimalistic tilt of his head showing his wonder. "You love me," he murmured, completely in awe. At least there wasn't a question mark audible. He raised his hand to her face but didn't touch her; his fingertips were lingering maybe only an inch away from her skin, as if he didn't dare to touch her, and from the corners of her eyes she could perceive that his hand was trembling.

She closed her eyes for a second and felt tears prickle behind her lids. "And you love me," she replied finally and put her left hand on his right, pressing it to her cheek. The moment the contact was made it seemed to get through to him that this was true, it was _all_ true – she loved him, she wanted him, and she was about to give herself freely and completely to him. A huge happy smile shone on his face, and his beautiful eyes glittered and sparked. Emma turned her face a little to the side and pressed a kiss to his palm before she looked at him again, the happiness on her face mirroring his.

"Make love to me, Killian," she whispered.

He never took his eyes off hers when he stepped back and smiled as he saw her let go of his hand only very reluctantly. Hook knew what he had to do. Never before in three hundred years had he taken off his hook for a woman – and he'd had _a lot_ of them, mostly to fill the ever-aching void in his life. Almost all of them hadn't minded that he'd kept the perilously gleaming hook on during their tryst, most of them had liked it, and a few of them had even found it particularly arousing; and, of course, he surely knew how to put it to good use in _every_ situation.

But this was different; _Emma_ was different. He wanted to get this right from the very beginning, and he wasn't going to take the slightest risk that she might be put off by his dangerous metal attachment or get nervous having it come near her bare skin. He knew, should he read any trace of that in her eyes during those first intimate moments they were about to share, it would bring him down massively. He gripped his brace firmly and was about to remove it from its sheath, when Emma interrupted him with her hand at his wrist and a clear _"No." _

He looked down at her hand and into her eyes again, a question in his, a shadow of insecurity perhaps, but she smiled reassuringly and slightly shook her head. Then she took his hand and hook and guided them firmly towards her body, placing them at her hips, right at the hem of her shirt, and started to slowly raise her arms while her eyes bore into his. He understood, swallowed under her stare and blinked before he carefully slid his ringed fingers and the sharp tip of his hook underneath the fabric. Gently, he pulled the garment up and over her head before it landed on the floor and was immediately forgotten.

Emma squirmed a little under his burning gaze and felt a delightful mix of embarrassment and eager anticipation flush her cheeks. His expression was one of complete awe and utter adoration when he saw her upper body bare except for her bra for the first time, his lips slightly parted. Tentatively, he raised his hand and let his fingers rest on her left shoulder for a moment, barely touching her skin, before he moved them slowly, _very_ slowly, along her collarbone, following them with his eyes. When he had reached the little nook where her collarbones met, he lingered there for a few seconds, and a little smile curved his perfect lips when he felt her pulse run madly against his fingertips. That almost wicked smile and the glittering tip of his tongue darting out between his teeth made Emma feel a tingling of wanton desire all the way down to her toes. He let his fingers wander down along her sternum through the valley between her breasts, causing goosebumps to spread over her entire torso. He passed the lacy fabric of her bra, and with a smooth sweep to the right along the underside of her left breast he cupped the mound in his hand where it fit perfectly. He didn't squeeze or caress it, but the warmth and slight pressure of his touch was enough to make her shiver, and he felt her peak stiffen and press against his palm through the lacy material of that tiny bodice she was wearing. Her breathing quickened.

Hook let his hand where it was and bent forward, brushing his lips against her right shoulder and mirroring the journey of his hand with his mouth now. He kissed and nibbled his way slowly, almost lazily along her right collarbone and then again along her sternum, and her chest started to rise and fall faster. She drew in a sharp breath when his hot mouth went astray and wandered to her right breast, brushing over the innocent white lace. When his lips closed briefly around her peak, teasing her through the lace, it was already erect from the anticipation.

A soft sigh escaped her throat when she felt his tongue for a second, and in a primal move, commanded by her baser instincts, her hips rolled a little forward. Hook let his hand and mouth glide down the front of her body, sinking to his knees in the process. Emma let her head fall back against the wood of the door with a little thump, eyes closed, when she felt his lips trail a burning path down over her stomach, his scruff grazing the sensitive skin of her belly; the sensation was so intense, it was almost too much. She felt hot liquid desire pool between her legs and cursed softly under her breath, both her hands combing through his already messy hair. She felt his hand vaguely below her left knee and heard him murmur something, without understanding the words; the blood pumping through her veins like hot lead was rushing way too loudly in her ears.

"Swan," he said again, his own voice husky and thickly laced with desire, "your boots."

She understood and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, giving him the chance to pull her boots off. Then he turned his eyes to her face without moving his head, and unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans with one hand – as skilled as she'd actually expected. She saw his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed thickly while pulling her jeans down. When they had gotten rid of them and she was standing in front of him clad in nothing but her white underwear, his hand and hook both sank down, dangling uselessly at his sides while he was just drinking in the sight of her with a dreamy expression of disbelief.

This couldn't be real, could it? Here was Emma Swan, his true love, the woman who had been running from him for a long, long time – she had confessed her love to him, had asked him to make love to her and was standing before him like a goddess in pieces of frocks that were obviously regarded as undergarments in this realm, but in reality were hardly more than sweet nothings. For a second, he dug the tip of his hook into his own thigh to make sure he wasn't indeed dreaming.

"Killian," she prompted softly, and, like always when she said his name, her voice was like music to his ears. Briefly, he shook his head to get back to reality from his reverie and saw her arms reaching out for him, beckoning him to get up to his feet again. Slowly, he rose from his kneeling position, and she put both hands to his hips where the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his sweatpants met. She smiled. "My turn," she said and tugged his shirt upward until he obediently raised his arms and allowed her to take if off him, carefully sliding it over his hook.

Emma dropped it to the floor beside hers and, with a very similar expression like Hook before, was staring at him, her mesmerized gaze sweeping over his exposed body like a caress. She was drinking in the sight of him, stunned by how gorgeous he actually was. She'd known before he had broad shoulders and strong arms, and she had felt the contours of his well-toned body more than once when they'd embraced, but seeing him in all his bared glory was almost a shock. His pecs were defined and his stomach flat, his waist trim and his hips slender, barely holding up those sweatpants. She eyed the black leather sheath that held his hook with interest; it covered his left forearm almost up to the elbow. The right forearm was muscular and from the elbow to the wrist dusted with fine dark hair; Emma let her eyes wander down and rest on his hand for one moment. Almost absentmindedly, he was rubbing his thumb over his fingertips, and she swallowed. She'd always secretly liked to watch him talk with this expressive hand, not to mention the feeling of it in her hair, at the back of her head, when he kissed her. The thought that she would soon feel it _all over her body_ made her head spin.

She blinked slowly and looked at his torso again. The fine dark body hair was sprinkled all over his chest and upper stomach up to his collarbones whereas his lower belly was mostly smooth, except for the narrowing trail of hair that led down from his bellybutton and disappeared into the waistband of his sweats. The whole man looked like forbidden pleasures and smelled like heaven and _God, _she was about to find out how he _tasted_, and he was all hers to take and be taken by him. Without even noticing it, Emma licked her lips and then raised both her hands and carefully, slowly, almost shyly, put them on his chest, fingers spread like wings. The chest hair tickled her palms, it was smooth and slightly curled and irresistible to the touch, just like she had secretly imagined many times. And who could blame her, with him parading around in his ridiculous half-buttoned shirts all the time, even with the chilliest temperatures?

Hook stood absolutely motionless. She looked up at him and saw that he was watching her, his eyes glittering, a loving, adoring little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Emma needed more closeness though. She bridged the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his body, leaning into him with a sigh. The first sensation of his bare skin on her own was beyond description, and a wave of heat swept over her as his arms and his smell, that heavenly scent, engulfed her in a tight embrace. For a moment, she rested her head against his chest, her right ear directly above his heart. When she heard the fast and steady beat, she closed her eyes and smiled, overwhelmed and almost brought to tears by the relief, and shuddering at the same time when she remembered that dreadful moment only a few hours ago that had almost taken him from her. She knew that sight would always haunt her dreams – the sight of Gold holding Killian's heart in his hand and viciously starting to crush it while the man she loved was cringing on the floor in agony, and she stood there frozen by Gold's magic, doomed to helplessly watch him die. Now, it was the best thing in the world to hear, to _feel_ he was alive. She needed more of it and turned her head to brush her lips over his collarbone while her hands caressed his back.

"Killian," she murmured against his warm skin, "take me to bed."

"As you wish," came his immediate reply, and before she knew it, her had her swept up in his arms, taking her by the word, although she hadn't meant it that way; but of course that was something he would do. She let herself sink against his body, reveling in the feeling of his strong arms carrying her, and she smiled when she heard his voice from another time, another realm reverberate in her head:_ I've carried rum barrels heavier than you... _some day she would tell him about it. But not now.

It didn't take more than three long steps to cross the small room, and he lowered her carefully down on the mattress he'd been lying on only maybe ten minutes before. He sat beside her, and for a moment they just exchanged longing, smiling looks before he raised his hand and brushed his knuckles over the innocent white lace covering her chest, making her shiver.

"So _this_ is what you call a bodice in this realm, Swan?" he asked almost casually with a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"No," she replied a little breathlessly, "we call it a bra. Brassière," she added when she saw his clueless frown.

"French? Fancy," he commented in a hoarse voice and motioned his hand to the tiny garment that looked incredibly sinful to his three hundred year old eyes that had seen so much, yet were so confused sometimes. "May I have the honor?"

Emma nodded with a smile and blushed a little. "Sure." She turned around and stretched out on the mattress, belly down, resting her flaming cheek on the cool pillow that still bore the indentation of his head and smelled of him. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, shivering with the anticipation of his touch on her bare skin. "Go ahead," she prompted softly when he hesitated at first.

Hook drank in the sight of her delicately curved back – the column of her spine, the slight swell of her back muscles on either side of it, the symmetric dimples on her lower back. She was nothing less than breathtakingly perfect. He bent forward and put his hand to the closure of that tiny bodice, examining it. He grinned to himself when he saw how it was fastened – tiny _hooks_? Just like made for him. This realm would never cease to surprise him. It didn't take him long to unclasp them, and as her whole back was now bare and exposed, he couldn't resist to lay his fingertips lightly between her shoulder blades and let them slowly wander down her spine. Her skin was smooth and silky, and he marveled at the tiny goosebumps that spread all over her torso. Knowing that it had been the touch of _his_ hand to evoke this reaction, filled him with awe. She shifted a little on the mattress when his fingers slid lower, and when he had reached the lace-trimmed hem of her knickers, he bent down and brushed a kiss on each of the dimples.

Emma made a tiny sound, like a sigh, when she felt his lips on the skin of her lower back, and then she felt them on the lowest point of her spine. Now they were slowly traveling upward again, returning on the trail his finger had painted before. Had that already been an utterly sensual experience – she'd never known that her entire _back_ was obviously a single erogenous zone – then the feeling of his lips, the brush of his tongue and the light graze of his scruff on her spine were almost unbearable. Without even noticing it, she curled her fingers into his pillow in a tight clasp, her body squirming under his touch. When he'd reached the space between her shoulder blades, he brushed her hair aside and pressed his lips on the spot behind her right ear. At that point, she couldn't hold back a shaky sigh when she felt his hot breath at the side of her neck.

"Turn around, my love," he murmured, "let me look at you."

Emma drew a deep breath and pushed herself up from her lying position, turning around again. She smiled at him, her skin still a little flushed, and let the bra glide from her shoulders, dropping it to the floor beside the bed. For a moment, she felt shy and insecure like a young girl baring herself for the eyes of her first lover. His gaze swept over her nude body like a caress, and almost absentmindedly he said: "I swear you're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life."

Emma knew that couldn't be true, because there were many beautiful blondes – and brunettes, raven-hairs and redheads – in this world, _and didn't he know it..._ but she also knew that to him it was the truth; he was looking at her with his eyes, but it was his heart forming the words.

Before she could reply, Hook lunged forward and reached for her head, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, making her head spin so rapidly that she thankfully let herself sink back onto the pillow again. She put both hands to his face and pulled him down with her, but when she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him even closer, on top of her, he broke the kiss and threw he a cheeky look, a devilish twinkle lurking in the corners of his hypnotizing blue eyes.

"Easy, Swan," he breathed against her lips in _that_ husky voice that had always made her toes curl, "we have all the time in the world."

She couldn't believe it when actually a small _giggle_ pearled from her lips; a sound that had never been a trademark of hers. Emma Swan didn't _giggle_. But the girlish sound faded away quickly and was replaced by a sharp intake of breath when he brought his mouth down on her skin again, kissing the side of her throat and then lazily going lower. He was following the curve of her long neck, his lips and tongue and scruff trailing a path of fire on her skin, leaving nothing but scorched earth. Emma threw her head to the side to give him better access, but he wasn't planning on lingering there for much longer. While he steadied himself on his left elbow, his hook resting beside the pillow, his hand wandered from her shoulder where he'd briefly touched her, down over her chest to cup her left breast. This time there was no layer of fabric, however subtle, between his warm palm and her sensitive flesh, and the slight pressure and friction of his skin against her erect peak coaxed a breathy sigh from deep within her throat. Not enough, he even lightly rubbed his ringed thumb over it in a slow, circular motion, just like he had absentmindedly rubbed it against the tips of his fingers before. _Damn_, she knew she'd never be able again to watch his hand make that move without thinking of what he was doing to her now.

But Hook didn't limit his attention only to one side; it didn't take him long to kiss his way down to her other breast, and also there, the lack of a barrier of fabric made his touch an almost unbearably intense experience. Tenderly, but also firmly, he sucked her nipple into his warm mouth, holding it with his lips and flicking his tongue over it until she squirmed and moaned; sighs just weren't enough any more. Involuntarily, she arched her back, trying to intensify the contact, when that devil released her from his mouth and softly blew over the moist peak. When she moaned again, she felt him smile against her skin, and before she knew it, he wandered lower. Like before, when he had undressed her and sunk to his knees in front of her, he planted a trail of little kisses down her stomach, barely touching her skin with his lips, which made it even worse somehow.

Emma closed her eyes and threw her head back, pressing it into the pillow, and entangled both her hands into his hair while he kissed his way down, down, further down. Her mind was unable to form coherent thoughts by now, too loud was the rush of her blood in her ears. Along with the blood, her frantically beating heart was pumping hot lead through her veins that didn't really circulate though, but pooled all as hot liquid desire between her legs where she ached for him the most now.

Hook was fascinated and amazed at how sensual and uninhibited her reactions were; but it didn't really surprise him. Her walls had come down gradually over those past few weeks, and once she'd lost her last fears and insecurities, she was ready to fully commit and give herself completely without any protective barriers or false shame. She knew by now she was safe with him, she knew he wouldn't hurt her or desert her, and therefore there was no reason to hold back anything or hide how vulnerable she was in her devotion and abandonment. It was as if her body had a will of its own and reacted just based on raw, primal instincts, and she didn't even dream of reigning that in but was ready to let herself fall completely. She knew, after all, he'd be there to catch her.

While he kissed and worshipped his way down her front, he noticed that the sounds and moves she was making seemed to get more urgent the closer he got to her silk-covered center. Damn, his Swan was as impatiently longing for him as he was for her. She drew another deep, shaky breath when he reached the lace-trimmed edge of those bloody sinful knickers, but he didn't stop there. He made her wait only for a second, before he crossed that line and pressed his lips firmly on her pubic mound through the silk, feeling her most sensitive spot beneath his mouth, and he was thrilled to find that the delicate fabric was already damp – the undeniable proof of her desire. Hell, he could even _smell_ it.

He felt her fingers curl against his scalp, pull his hair almost painfully, and her back arched again, so forcefully that her hips were lifted from the mattress in a silent plea for more. But she wasn't able to remain silent.

"Killian..." she breathed hoarsely, "please..."

Oh yes, it was about bloody time. He put his hook and hand to her knickers and pulled them slowly down over her hips; the lover in him delighted in seeing her squirm and writhe under his lips and fingers, and the pirate in him couldn't resist to reply in a teasing voice: "Be patient."

Her eyes flew open. "Oh, you..." But she fell silent when she saw the revering expression on his face while he was looking at her, now completely naked and exposed. It was as if he _still_ couldn't believe this was actually happening, that she was here with him, _for_ him, to hold her and finally make love to her. Maybe as if he couldn't believe he deserved any of it? She hoped not. She remembered their conversation from only a few minutes ago, and suddenly she felt, apart from the burning desire that was eating her alive, an urging need – the need to reassure him once more that, to her, he was perfect, beautifully flawed just like he was. She reached out with both arms for him, and when his eyes focused on hers again, she uttered clearly, but softly: "Hold me now."

Hook smiled, bare of any teasing and cockiness now, and stood up for a moment, quickly getting rid of his sweatpants without further ado. Emma swallowed thickly when his erection sprung free – of course he'd been going commando, just like she had expected – and she saw him in his whole naked glory for the first time. Before she could make any move to touch him, however, he slipped in bed, into her waiting arms, and put his hand lightly, but also possessively to her hip.

He kissed her passionately on the lips and asked: "Allow me to make you mine."

Emma averted her eyes for a moment and smiled, amazed at how that old-fashioned remark of his could make her feel like a blushing maiden about to lose her virginity, when all the things he'd done to her during his wicked foreplay hadn't. Only Killian Jones could say something like that and not sound completely ridiculous. On the contrary, he sounded utterly sincere and adorable. She looked at him with unveiled love in her eyes. "Don't you know I already am, you stupid old pirate?" she whispered back, the devotion in her voice clearly audible, despite the benevolent tease. His expression betrayed how deeply moved he was indeed by her words. She put her hand to his scruffy cheek and added: "You just have to take what's already yours."

He swallowed the lump in his throat when he heard his Swan express her commitment to him in these simple, yet so important words. There was nothing left to say, and he rolled gently on top of her, between her invitingly parted thighs, steadying himself on both elbows, anxious to keep his hook in safe distance from her head. When he positioned himself at her entrance and grazed his tip tentatively over her aching core, she drew a deep, shaky breath in eager anticipation and muttered something unintelligible under her breath; it might have been a curse.

Emma wasn't sure what she'd expected from this moment – maybe some forceful invasion, and maybe she'd even secretly hoped for it – but he entered her slowly, carefully almost, inch by glorious inch. She didn't know what was more overwhelming: the physical pleasure or the emotional depth of being at last united with the man she loved. The whole time until he was buried completely inside her, their eyes were locked, simultaneously darkened with love and desire, staring at each other with open-mouthed, awe-struck expressions. He remained motionless, and she sighed: "Finally."

He looked at her with all of the wonder in his gorgeous eyes, reveling in the sensation of being in her arms, _inside_ her, feeling her tight and warm and welcoming around his throbbing flesh. Yes, this was actually happening. She loved him, she was devoted to him, and she wasn't afraid anymore to show it. Hook brought his hand to her face, caressed her front tenderly, barely brushing his fingertips over her skin. He pushed a lock from her face, and smiled that tiny smile that was reserved only for her. "Aye."

She pulled him down for a kiss. "Make me feel it, Killian."

And Hook started to move and made her indeed feel it – _all_ of it. All of his long pent-up desire, his devotion, his relief to be alive, his happiness about her commitment, his fierce passion, ardent lust and, above all, his love. Almost immediately, their bodies molded into one, and it took only ridiculously few moments before they were wrapped around each other so closely and moving in such perfect sync that nobody would have been able to tell where one ended and the other one began. A lot of looks were exchanged, looks full of love and always that never-ceasing wonder, kisses and caresses. They both whispered, sighed and moaned each others' names, terms of endearment and, yes, also dirty little nothings only lovers say.

Their passion built up quickly with each thrust, and instinctively, Hook slowed down the pace a little, driven by the desire to delay the inevitable end of this exquisite, very first intimate union with his Swan. Emma's grip at his shoulder tightened a little in her irritation, and she gasped: "Don't stop... why..."

He felt a droplet of sweat trickle down the curve of his spine and smiled down at her. "Not yet, my love," he replied just as breathlessly, and she understood because she returned the smile and wrapped her arms and legs closely around him, joining his slower rhythm, and for a while they just rolled their hips softly, gently rocking back and forth into each other.

But after some more moments, Emma felt the irrepressible need to let go of the tension and find her release, and she curled her fingers a little, pressing them into his muscular back as an unmistakable signal, and urged: "Now, _please_..."

Hook focused on her eyes and saw in their feverish shimmer that she couldn't take it any longer and was about to reach the point of no return; as delicious as it was to draw this out a little longer – and he was experienced and skilled enough to draw it out a _lot_ – he also knew when it was enough, and now that moment was there. Oh, and there would be plenty of time to repeat this over and over again. With a few deep and fast thrusts he brought them back on track again and saw immediately in her eyes that she was about to lose it. He locked his stare with hers, and both had happy smiles on their flushed faces when they felt it coming closer and closer. He reached for her left hand that was still wrapped around his body and pressed it into the pillow beside her head, palm to palm, their fingers interwoven. Their fronts were leaned against each other, and now they both remained completely motionless and quiet and let the climax wash over them.

Neither of them spoke for at least a minute, and both stayed in the same position, their eyes finally closed now. Their breaths and heartbeats gradually slowed down, and after a while, Emma shifted a little beneath him. He opened his eyes and found hers were already looking at him with a mix of warmth and satiation; hell, she even licked her lips, and he'd be _damned_ if she didn't look like the bloody cat that just stole the cream.

He blinked and grinned. "What?"

She curled her fingers that were still entwined with his, like she planned on never again letting him go. "Why have we waited so long?" she asked playfully. She half expected some smug reply from him or a remark like _Well, love, if I had a say in it, we'd have done this two years ago_, but he just replied: "Because now was the perfect time."

That threw her a little off track, and she blinked before she smiled with benevolent irony. "Says Killian _it's-about-bloody-time_ Jones?"

He tilted his head and crinkled his nose. "Well, I admit the thought might have crossed my mind," he conceded, and she laughed a little, but then he added in a dead serious tone: "But some things – or people – are worth waiting for." He saw that her playful smile faded a little and turned into an awe-struck expression; a bit like when he'd told her that he'd traded his ship in return for a magic bean to save her. Slightly embarrassed, he licked his lips and winked. "You're not going to tell me this was a one-time thing, are you?" It was a joke, but for one tiny, heart-stopping moment the irrational fear struck him that she could say exactly that.

But her emerald smile made all his worries melt like the ice of Elsa's town wall. "Not a snowball's chance in hell," his Swan replied without the slightest hesitation and added with a cheeky twinkle in her eyes: "You got me completely... _hooked_."

He averted his eyes for a moment and snorted a happy little laugh. Then he found his inner dashing rapscallion again and raised his eyebrows in that damn cocky way of his. "I knew this was inevitably destined to happen, Swan. All it took was a little persistence."

Emma nodded with a grin. "I appreciate you're a very patient man," she told him almost solemnly and ran the fingers of her free hand almost casually down his back, "but I hope that doesn't mean we have to wait that long again before we repeat this."

She was thrilled to feel him shiver a little under her touch, but experienced as he was, he still managed to keep a nonchalant face. He ran his wicked tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. "If you ask me nice..."

She raised her head from the pillow and brought her lips to his right ear, whispering: "I can make you see fireworks, pirate. How's that?"

Hook was still trying to look casual, he really tried, but he miserably failed because his body betrayed him. He was still inside her, and Emma could feel his immediate physical response, whether it was a reaction to her words or to her hot breath licking over his earlobe. He let go of her hand. "Can you, now?" he murmured and traced the contour of her lower lip with his ringed index finger. "Well, then let's take a look."

She deliberately clenched her inner walls and watched with delight how his eyes darkened. "You sure you can handle this, old man?" she teased.

He flexed his hips a little and exercised only the slightest friction on her most sensitive spot, making her draw a sharp breath in response. "I told you I love a challenge."

Three hours later, the room was dark and quiet but for the deep and steady breaths of Hook and Emma. After the last orgasm had been sighed, after the last kiss and the last caress had been shared and the last _I love you_ whispered, they'd both fallen into an exhausted, happy sleep... so deep and peaceful neither of them had experienced in a long, long time. Perhaps the reason was their leaden, physical and emotional tiredness; the events of the last days had been torture for both, the long talk after their second round of lovemaking – finally, Hook had revealed to her everything that had happened since he'd blackmailed the Crocodile to restore his hand – had brought them both to the verge of tears. And, well, the fervor and sensuality of their shared passion had finally drained the last drop of energy and the last ounce of strength from them. So, perhaps that was the reason for the depth of their sleep.

But a more likely reason was by far that they were finally together.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Acknowledgements:<strong>_

There's no story without inspiration, and sometimes, there's no inspiration without a muse. And I have found that my muse's instincts are always right.**_ Silvia:_** I have yet to see you fail. Grazie!


End file.
